Upon Waking
by blackpond
Summary: Jack is haunted by dreams after the deaths of Lacie and Oswald and filled with regrets that continue to gnaw at him. During the day he has to face up to the reality of what he's done but at night his mind gives him a cruel break that forces him to remember what could have been versus what is.


Disclaimer: I do not own Pandora Hearts nor do I have any rights to it.

Jack Vessalius was a man with so many regrets that he couldn't count them all, but at the same time those regrets seemed to drown in comparison with his one priority: Lacie and his one wish: make Lacie's wish come true.

Lacie had loved this world but had been forced to leave it due to some sick ritual and the delusions of one entity. She'd been thrown into the abyss, not just simply killed. She'd been annihilated, becoming one with the abyss. And since Lacie was now in that dimension, forever trapped and melded with it, and since the abyss could not come to the world, Jack would simply make the world come to her, so that Lacie, who's become one with the abyss, would never have to be lonely ever again.

Jack had committed many sins in the name of this goal, he'd even failed once before to bring it about but that did not mean he was giving up. It just meant he'd be a little late in the delivery. That's all.

And though Jack was confident in his desires and goals every now and then a small amount of regret crept inside of Jack about some of the things that had had to come about to bring him here to this point, sitting on this bed, in a body that was now aging backwards. At this point he was physically 15 but in reality he was older, probably late 20's early 30's would've been a more accurate account of his age, though no one would've believed him if he'd told anyone that now.

Jack Vessalius was sitting on the side of his bed, re-braiding his hair and looking out the window.

It was snowing.

He could've laughed at the cruelty of that.

Just that day he had sat down with Arthur Barma and informed him of the circumstances that had brought him here, to this point. He had watched Arthur's face, a study of shock, horror and maybe even revulsion, as he showed him his face and recounted the events that had brought them here.

"It's all just a quaint little fairy tale." He'd informed him.

But to Jack Vessalius it was also a little more than that, more like a haunting nightmare that you couldn't be awoken from seemed a more apt description. But he didn't know what that made his dreams. Sweet tastes of heaven or perhaps bitter tales that made his waking hours more intolerable and miserable due to that sickening sweetness of the dreams.

As Jack tied off the last of his braid he wondered what it would be tonight, though he was pretty sure he had a clue.

They all began the same, for the most part. Tonight was no exception.

Here was a menagerie of all the spoken and unspoken desires that merged to create this: A dream.

Lacie was alive. And Oswald was alive. And Jack…he was _happy_.

It was like life had continued on in the way it had _before_ Lacie had died. It was like all of it: Lacie's death, his killing Glen, the Tragedy of Sablier, none of it had ever happened. It had never even been a twinkle in any of their eyes. It was all wiped away. The slate was clean. He was _good_ again and in this turn of events it was like a natural progression had taken place.

In his dreams he felt young and free of burden, even though now, technically, he was physically younger. In his dreams time seemed to go on forever. Endless days were spent in the sun underneath shady trees. Lacie's singing echoed in his mind pleasantly as if he were on the verge of sleep.

He'd look over at Oswald. Yes, Oswald, Oswald his friend not Glen the mind meld monster that had forced his hand, ridiculous scowling Oswald with a bird perched on his head arms folded shrouded in darkness and yet for one glorious moment Jack would look over at Oswald and those amethyst eyes seemed to soften, to smile, to for one golden minute approve of him.

In his dreams there would be a degree of innocence. Sometimes they'd just be talking (mostly him and Lacie and then them taking turns talking _at_ Oswald). Sometimes they would just sit in companionable silence and Jack would just look at them.

Lacie with her crimson eyes sparkling as she looked out at the light shining in the pond, reflecting back off of it, into her eyes, her expression calm as she gazed out, hands in her lap.

Then he'd turn to Oswald who would be watching Lacie, watching ducks, watching the sky or some ant and a blade of grass, his eyes in their barely open state as if he might doze off at any instant.

Every now and then he thought of them at society parties, mostly Oswald lurking near a curtain as Lacie was rarely permitted to leave Baskerville grounds, but most of the time they were all together, eating in Lacie's tower, tea, cakes and sandwiches aplenty as Lacie held court, teasing her brother, making Jack blush, walking about her quarters, complaining that she was bored and forcing one of the men (normally Jack) to dance with her. Sometimes she'd dance alone though, her hair spreading out from her as she twirled. Other times she'd watch her brother and Jack play chess. Sometimes she'd sit on her small love seat, delicately sprawled, like a child, reading one of her many books, calling out to Oswald every now and then to ask about a pronunciation for this or that word. She'd be holding her Black Rabbit, its head stuck in the crook of her arm, as she read. And occasionally she'd look up, catching Jack staring at her in such an absent state that it would take him a minute to realize that her eyes were now on him. She'd smile so easily at him, with such kind loving eyes that made Jack feel warm all over in a thousand wonderful ways. She would make him feel loved and wanted with such ease that it seemed to him it was as easy for her as breathing. She'd make him blush, make some little comment that would send his heart racing and he would try in vain to say something which conveyed the great depth and meaning of her existence to him. He always just seemed to miss the warmth that flooded her, the slight blush to her cheeks and the softening of her eyes that would take hold of her then.

But the events of Jack's dreams weren't always so innocent. Sometimes they had a different tint, a more sexual one.

There he would lie on one of those dark four poster beds of the Baskervilles, knowing that they were in Oswald's room, since this room was a part of the main house, and he would feel his head resting on two beautiful, smooth, soft thighs, _Lacie's_ thighs, and he'd feel slender, long, delicate fingers in his hair, winding and twirling the strands, fingering them idly and he'd smell the pleasant aroma of Lacie's sex wafting up and around him. And he'd be naked and she'd be naked and her eyes would be gazing down at him with an indecipherable look.

What was that look?

And then there would be Oswald. Oswald with those half-lidded brooding eyes that hosted a multitude of things, his face like Lacie's and not like Lacie's. Her face like Oswald's, but not like Oswald's. The two siblings were a study in contrasts but then again were linked in some ways, though their bodies were certainly different.

Lacie's was soft but firm and small, while Oswald's was tall, lanky, a little foreboding but strong. Their hands however struck Jack as a similarity, both having long, elegant and nimble fingers, both sets of hands seemingly showing off their pale complexions and vivid green blue veins. But their faces, though different, were sort of like variations of the same. Their noses and lips were awfully similar, but their eyes were united in away. Sure maybe Oswald's were violet and Lacie's the most disarming shade of red, but still. It looked as if Oswald opened his eyes a little wider they'd be like Lacie's, and if Lacie had hooded hers they'd be like Oswald's. They both shared dark hair, light pale skin and a look of such gentleness and kindness that was like a warmth that Jack had never known anywhere else.

He knew alternately however that that warmth, gentleness and kindness could shift into an unpredictable brutality in a heart-beat. After all upon his first meeting with Lacie she had purposefully cut his ear and later danced in the blood rain of their abusers, while upon his first meeting with Oswald, Oswald had incapacitated him with the ease of an assassin and then went on to humiliate him with a degree of detachment. Add to that that Oswald was to be a future Glen_ and_ currently a Baskerville and yes, he was one dangerous individual. They were both like that, Lacie and Oswald. They were unthinkably dangerous and yet they possessed an odd sort of calm, a gentle peace about them that Jack wanted to bask in. They were distinctly comforting and disarming.

But right now, the way Oswald was looking at him he wasn't sure if he should be terrified or ecstatic. Oswald was naked, so very, very naked. And there was a sort of grace to him despite his awkwardness at being naked, quickly accompanied by his shame.

Jack watched him for a minute walking to the bed and then slowly looked up at Lacie, feeling his blood rush downwards at the sight of her beautiful breasts. She just smiled and stroked his hair. Then she looked up and _kissed_ Oswald on the mouth, slow and steady, until Oswald pulled away, his lower lip lingering for a moment though because Lacie had it caught between two rows of small white teeth. She smiled at him as she let it go and though his face looked slightly irritated he was blushing.

For a moment Oswald seemed to withdraw and disappear and there was only Lacie, Lacie who smiled down at Jack so kindly with so much mischief in her eyes, whose thumb stroked his forehead before leaning down and kissing him, the taste of Lacie, Oswald and honey mingling in his mouth, now being mixed with his own taste.

He was so wrapped up in the kiss that he nearly forgot about Oswald…until he felt him.

First there was an added weight on the bed, second a long fingered hand on his knees, then his knees being forced gently but firmly apart. Next there was an exploration that nearly made him gasp but diffidently made him moan into his kiss with Lacie as she moaned back, one thumb now resting on and stroking Jack's chin. After a lingering touch Oswald's hand and lovely long fingers moved away. Jack mourned this but was easily distracted with Lacie's mouth, and how he _loved_ that mouth.

They kissed for a while and for a little bit Oswald was once again forgotten, but then the weight at the end of the bed returned and after a slick pop and a few seconds delay Jack felt oil trickling down the cleft of his ass some of it ending up on the inside of his thighs due to Oswald's slight clumsiness. Oswald mumbled a rushed apology but it could hardly be heard because Lacie had pulled back and Jack was gasping.

Oswald stopped rubbing him with oil and watched him for a minute, his stare a blend of ice, warmth, embarrassment and curiosity.

Then Jack felt one of Oswald's fingers slip in, long and flexing and Jack felt his back arch and heard himself moan.

He heard Lacie make a comment about his lovely voice and felt her rub his chest, then his nipples experimentally. Jack's moan deepened and he was embarrassed by how loud he was being but he could hear Lacie assuring him how lovely the sounds he was making were.

Oswald all the while watched as Lacie bent down to place kisses all over Jack. Halfway through Lacie looked up from a spot on Jack's neck. Lacie had arched an eyebrow that Jack couldn't see as Oswald's eyes grazed the naked bodies of Jack and Lacie his eyes a mixture of shy hesitance and unreadable. Jack wasn't sure what to think as Oswald moved closer to him, fingers still inside, and kissed him hard and soft on the mouth. He pulled away just as he removed his fingers.

"Turn over Jack." Came Oswald's words, harsh and cold and deep but still they conveyed so much more.

All the things that Oswald wanted to say, but couldn't, didn't even know how to begin to put into words, he somehow conveyed in his tone, a subtle look, a little spark that would sometimes seize him.

Jack obeyed and turned over, excited and scared at the same time.

Lacie would re-situate herself. Her legs would spread. She'd lay back on nice lush soft pillows, sighing with a slight look of the most divine _contentmen_t on her lips and face. Sometimes a pretty lyrical moan of anticipation would hum past her lips, thoughts and implications being enough to start the wheels turning toward the inevitable.

_There_ would be Jack, ass high in the air, knees hiked up, kneeling low, spread _wide_ for Oswald but all the while Jack would be smelling Lacie, tasting Lacie, stroking a beautiful milky white thigh of Lacie's as he was before her beautiful spread legs, right at the core of her. And it wouldn't be long before his mouth would be on her, his tongue exploring and flicking and tasting, his mouth sucking greedily, inhaling the very _essence_ of Lacie.

_There_ would be Oswald taking in the sight of it all, eyes half-lidded as he pushed into Jack, noting his little whimper which could turn into the most desirable moan as he fully sheathed himself in Jack's warmth, stretching him, feeling him tighten around him and god he was_ tight_. He savored the way Jack pushed back into him, his legs splaying even more to take him. Oswald liked that, just as a part of him liked to withdraw, pulling almost completely out, just to thrust back in. Oswald would groan. He'd lean closer, down a little and push Jack's braid off to one shoulder. Then he'd kiss Jack's neck, back, shoulder, whatever was available, as he clumsily fumbled around for Jack's cock, thick and long and hard in his hand, smearing the come at the tip of it and moving to moisten and stroke the shaft. He'd see Jack's skin, smell Jack's almost childish, innocent scent. He'd see a wisp of golden hair and feel Jack's body tightening around him, responding to_ his_ body. Oswald couldn't deny it. Jack was a beautiful man.

And at this Oswald would look up, past gold and paleness, to his sister.

And_ there_ would be Lacie, watching Jack, feeling golden locks brush up against her thigh and making it almost tickle if it wasn't for that skilled sweet little mouth and clever little tongue, sucking, darting in and out, slow, rhythmic, kneading which transformed all possible giggles into the most pleasing of moans, slowly tipping her over the edge with contrast.

_There_ would be Jack, cheerful, slightly embarrassed, needy and hers and _there _would be Oswald his dark hair so like hers, mussed, sweaty and in his face as his eyes were half-lidded and glazed, brow furrowed in his concentration on and pursuit of Jack's lovely little ass. Lacie would feel her hips thrust forward and up, feel the involuntary moan escape her lips and close her own eyes before regaining some sort of epic bedraggled kind of composure. Both of her hands would fist in Jack's lush silky golden blonde hair and she would smile down at him as she felt his happy response, his tongue pushing further into her and she'd moan, her eyes for an odd golden moment meeting Oswald's as he thrust and Lacie felt the reverberations of a moan deep in her, Jack's moan at the thrust, and suddenly it would strike Lacie that she wanted to be near to Oswald and she would extend a slender pale leg with a dainty foot attached that would brush up against Oswald's thigh, his taunt buttocks and there would be that repressed moan that he'd have to choke on and she would smile and arch her back as she felt both men, first Jack and then Oswald, reach up for a breast and start to grope, squeeze, knead and rub until she was very much lost and indeed gone to her desires, having felt the hands of the two men she loved most upon her breasts, her Jack, and her Nii-sama. She would feel so content, so happy, so safe and blissful, everything else seemed obsolete. A happy dream.

This is how it would normally happen.

First Lacie would orgasm, a moan on her lips as she arched her back, gripped Jack's hair and pushed up. This in turn would cause Jack to come on the spot followed by Oswald who would suddenly choke back a moan as he spilled his seed deep into Jack who was wantonly squeezing around him.

But this was not always how it was.

Sometimes Oswald would walk in just as Lacie was mounting Jack, her head thrown back, her lips slightly parted as Jack lowered her on him and she tried to keep her moan down. Jack would be sitting up, both hands on her hips as his legs were straight out and parted slightly a rosy blush on his face as Lacie's legs were locked around his hips and her sharp fingers were gripping his arms at the sensation. Oswald would stand there a moment and then Lacie would glance over, after noting Jack's red faced distraction, and smile the most beatific halfway to exhaustion smile.

"Nii-sama." She would say and it would all unfold from there until by the end of it Oswald would be holding Lacie, kneading her breasts as Jack delivered the final throes.

Other times Jack would be the one to walk in on Oswald and Lacie, almost looking like twin lovers in their mess of tangled bare limbs and dark charcoal hair. Lacie's back arched, practically bended in half on top of Oswald who had one hand supporting her hips and the other reaching up against abdomen and ribs to stroke Lacie's breast, squeezing it and then rubbing the nipple as Lacie moaned. Jack would be left to struggle over his desires long enough to get to the bed and take care of them properly but sometimes not even till then.

Then there were the times when Lacie lay naked on her stomach her head on folded arms as she watched Jack and Oswald together, listening to their moans and the sounds of their skin slapping against each other. She'd watch it all with peaceful, fascinated but passive eyes. Sometimes though if it was still early in the evening and Lacie hadn't been completely sated, Jack would look over at Lacie in the midst of his and Oswald's activities and see Lacie lying on her back, legs spread, propped up by pillows slowly moving one finger in and out of herself as she cupped her own breasts, watching them. Both men would come shortly after taking in the sight.

Then there were other things too.

Lacie's mouth on Jack, Jack's mouth on Oswald or Oswald's mouth on Jack.

But as good as that felt Jack couldn't deny the peculiar pleasure of Oswald's mouth on Lacie.

Watching the two of them like this, knowing with warmth that Jack knew the exact feeling and taste and sensation of doing that to Lacie, an experience that Oswald was now experiencing, something so intimate shared between the two men and between this girl, Lacie, filled him with such warmth he wasn't sure whether crying or laughing would be more appropriate. He felt like he could do either one with as much ease and sincerity as the other. Lacie's hands would fist into Oswald's hair and she'd moan and close her eyes and her beautiful lips would part and her hips could be seen moving, her little body squirming and her little head thrashing every now and then until finally she reached her climax, sweaty and contented and exhausted as her body first tensed and arched and then finally relaxed with such luster and comfort that it was touching. Then slowly the breathless Oswald would come up, gasping for air and Lacie's grip on his hair would have loosened and dropped away and as Oswald struggled for a steady breath, a little saliva and Lacie's fluids on his lips, dripping down his chin, he would move up pressing three soft kisses up her stomach before reaching her breasts and sticking one nipple into his mouth, mouthing it and sucking on it slightly, eyes cast up at her as she watched him before he'd move up to her mouth and kiss, the most sweet, loving and tender kiss that Jack had ever bared witness to. And with that Oswald would lazily lean over and kiss Jack, the pleasant taste of Lacie's fluids mingled with Oswald's and joining Jack's and then Oswald would lazily rest his head against Lacie's chest, his body stretched out against her body, laying in between her legs. Lacie would lean down and kiss Oswald on the head, one hand fingering his charcoal locks, twirling them while Oswald's eyes fluttered shut. Then Jack would feel a hand on his thigh, Lacie's, and she'd find his hand and hold it.

Then there were other times, like now, where Jack felt, in a way, the height of being whole. Sex with both of them at the same time, with Oswald penetrating him and him penetrating Lacie, Jack considered this the most utmost supreme and special of love making because it was the closest they could get to all three being one whole together and united physically. And he liked the feeling of being sheathed and buried in Lacie while Oswald was filling him from behind. He liked having Oswald in him and he liked being in Lacie, burying himself in Lacie's warmth and depths just as Oswald was doing the same to him. It made him feel like he understood both, could know how both of them felt. It made him feel close and united to them both. He loved them both, was so happy with them both, wished that this was how it could always be, that he could always be this close and this happy with them both, even though a part of him deep down inside knew that this was not so and could never be so.

There would always be a moment where their bodies just seemed to reach the pinnacle, that is to say that each and every action complemented the other.

Lacie's back would arch and she'd tighten around Jack, causing Jack to thrust and also tighten around Oswald who would groan (almost sob) before delivering a thrust that would inevitably start off the process again as Lacie would feel the thrust via Jack, moaning and tightening simultaneously. And slowly, like waves washing up over him, the thrusts and trembles and pulse of pleasure building and building beyond speech or any feeling that he even knew beyond, happy, exuberant, ecstatic and just so damn lovely would build up, pool and come rolling through him, every clench and thrust feeling so clear and vivid and his happiness being so severe that it could cut him. And suddenly, as he was so close and they were so close, Lacie in her final sharp tremble and rearrangement and Oswald going into his final throes and then Jack would feel so very, very close and just as he was about to take one last strangled breath before-

And then he'd awaken with a start, gasping and panting, feeling his bed sheets and bed clothes too hot and sticky against him, sweat making his hair stick to his neck as he was sitting bolt upright and in a panic, stricken with the most awful terrifying fear that literally made him feel sick, tears already stinging his eyes, just to look, to note the two slightly warm weights on the bed to either side of him, both fast asleep, both oblivious.

There was Oswald who always looked so peaceful and sound when he was sleeping, turned on his side slightly, toward where Jack would've been, one surprisingly delicate hand curled up near his face clutching a bit of pillow case, while he breathed softly, occasionally causing a little dark strand of hair covering his face to sway slightly. His other hand lightly clutched at the blanket, his lips looking surprisingly pouty but also like maybe he was biting the lower one.

Jack turned to his right to find Lacie curled and twisted in to an impossibly odd sleeping position, head almost touching one knee in the scrunched up position that she was in. If Jack had been lying down she would've been nestled in somewhere to the right of his arm and his chest. He now noted that one of her slender legs was stretched over his, entwined and just barely touching Oswald's calves. When he looked down at his right hand he realized that she was holding it.

There was Lacie, just fine and by his side sleeping at an impossibly odd angle every bit as violent a sleeper as Oswald was a peaceful one. He looked once again at Oswald, as if to confirm his presence again. Oswald let out a soft sigh but didn't stir. At some point though he must've moved because Oswald's hand had now let go of the pillow and was just curled up by his face and the hand with the blankets was now lying flat on the white sheeted mattress.

_They're fine_, Jack would think. _They're just fine. They're both alive and as they always were. They're fine._

And at that moment, just as the panic and rapid heartbeat began to settle down and the sweat on his neck and back seemed to cool and dry, as relief and the beginnings of elation rushed over him to sooth his troubled heart-

Like falling through the second pane of glass….

He awoke with a start, clutching the sheets to either side of him, already bolted straight up and the remnants of some incoherent cry on his lips. That perfect, blissful, too-good-to-be-true-dream was just that, _too_ good and his illusion of happiness shattered around him as he woke up to his_ real_ reality, where both siblings were gone.

Lacie-Dead.

Oswald-Dead.

And he, he was annoyingly, persistently alive while they were gone. He was left all alone with the consequences of his action, Lacie's actions, Oswald's actions. He was the last one standing when he really didn't want to be, in his own self-created hell.

For the longest time he just sat there in the bed grasping and tearing at the sheets he was holding to either side of him, sheets which were lacking _their_ nearby warmth, a mattress which was lacking _their steadying, comforting_ weight. Everything was lacking.

As he gripped and clutched at the sheets he stared into his lap, tears welling and biting at his eyes.

Why?

Why the hell had it turned out like this?

Why were they gone?

Why did his sleeping mind show him such lovely scenes as them together, alive, happy?

Why did his mind give him that split second relief and joy of thinking that it was all just a dream just to force him back here, to this existence lacking the two people he loved the most?

Why had it come to this?

Him alone in a pleasant cool room, the morning sun just streaming in, soft sheets, a nice clean room, his reverse aging body, Oswald dead by Jack's hand, Lacie sent to the abyss (presumably dead) by Oswald's?

Why?

Why this?

How could the world be_ this_ cruel?

Why?

He sat there in a daze. The tears stung his eyes and it took him along time to realize there was knocking at his door and someone was calling his name.

His bare feet hit the cool hardwood and he grabbed a robe off an upholstered bench, walking in a fog to his bedroom door where the knocking was emanating from.

He opened it.

It was his servant.

Apparently Arthur Barma had fallen ill and died the night before.

So was his life now that _they_ were gone.

It was just another body in a sea of them.

-M. Palovna


End file.
